


Miles Per Hour

by yotsu8a



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Background Relationships, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, all of the primary characters are about college-age, nami and gucci just make cameos, task force-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 20:31:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14901474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yotsu8a/pseuds/yotsu8a
Summary: A group of friends go on a road trip across America.





	Miles Per Hour

**Author's Note:**

> contains referenced domestic abuse, very brief mentions of alcohol, and implied sexual content - nothing too intense, though.

Maine, Ide decides, is probably one of the better places in the States to kick off a road trip if you’re starting in the middle of August. Really, his preference is to not go _anywhere_ during summer — he’s particularly sensitive to the temperature, and one instance of heat syncope was enough to leave a permanent foul taste in his mouth — but if everything turns out right, they’ll be out of it by Pennsylvania and won’t have to worry about it again until Utah.

(He was never one for travel, either, especially not for so _long_ , but it wasn’t like any of them could’ve said _no_ when Matsuda practically begged them to join him on a year-long tour of the nation. Besides, Touta’s father was covering the majority of the costs.)

He’s still sweating as he packs the last of his bags into the back of the rental minivan, but it’s _tolerable_. In fact, Ide is in a relatively good mood, which is almost enough to surprise _himself_. 

“You can ride shotgun first, if you want,” Matsuda offers, reaching up to close the trunk; he’s been chattering in Ide’s direction for the past few minutes nonstop, and Ide appreciates having something else to focus on, even if he’d never say it aloud. “We’ll probably trade out later, but I don’t think anyone else really cares — ”

“You can have it next time,” Ukita interrupts from the front seat. “I’m not moving.”

Which is how Ide ends up sitting with Matsuda in the back for their first stretch of road.

The air conditioning is a saving grace, he thinks, because he doesn’t have the heart to push the other man off of him, and the added body heat would be a hell of a lot less welcome without it. They’ve been dating for about a year now and Ide is finally pretty warmed up to the copious amount of physical affection that is apparently an integral part of being in a relationship with Matsuda, but putting it so blatantly on display in front of their friends is still _embarrassing_. At least they’re in the back and no one else is paying attention.

“I can’t wait to go to the beach,” he mumbles into Ide’s neck after a few minutes on the road; Ide shudders.

“W-we’re not doing that until, what, September?” Ide coughs loudly and fixes his gaze very intensely on the window. “And put your seatbelt on. You’ll get yourself hurt.”

“But Aizawa’s a good driver!” 

Ide sighs and resigns himself to the fact that his boyfriend will probably die if they get in a car accident; at some point, his arm ends up draped around Matsuda’s shoulder, and then Matsuda is talking again.

“Hideki?”

“What?”

“I love you.”

Ide coughs into his hand — his face is reddening very quickly. “Yes. Well. I know. I love you too.”

“Gay,” Ukita yells from the passenger’s seat. Aizawa sighs very loudly, and Matsuda kisses Ide on the mouth.

* * *

 

Ukita is about to doze off when Mogi brings the minivan to a stop. His head snaps forward and nearly collides with the back of Matsuda’s seat, and he stops muttering curses in time to hear the driver’s explanation.

“It’s late and starting to get foggy,” Mogi states apologetically, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Aizawa and I thought it would be safer just to stop for the night.”

As soon as Ukita actually sees the motel they’re stuck at for the night, he decides that they might’ve been _safer_ out on the roads. They’re a few hours out of Memphis by now and not quite into Nashville, Ide informs him tiredly as he disposes of the sad remainders of the McDonald’s they had grabbed a while earlier, but the place really _does_ look like it’s in the middle of nowhere. There’s a pool beside the building that looks like it’s full of dead frogs, and the receptionist is a middle aged lady who seems about as happy to be there as Ukita is. Ide and Matsuda get their own room, and the rest of them drag their luggage down to the opposite end of the motel with a promise to meet up the next morning.

The room smells very particularly of something Ukita can’t identify but immediately detests, and the paint is peeling off the walls in multiple areas. He isn’t sure whether or not there are scorpions in this part of Tennessee, but Aizawa checks anyway and announces that there are none, so he at least feels marginally safer when they retire for the night.

Then their neighbors start having sex. Very loudly.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Aizawa mutters, flicking the lamp on and sitting upright.

“Maybe they’ll stop,” Mogi suggests unhelpfully. Ukita is pretty sure he can hear him trying not to laugh.

They do not stop.

“Alright, that’s it, I can’t take this shit anymore.” Ukita climbs out of bed, hastily shoving his shoes on. “I’m going to give these guys a piece of my mind.”

“Ukita,” Mogi interjects, “Maybe we should just call the front desk and be done with it — ”

“No, Ukita’s right. Fuck them.” Aizawa appears behind him, shirt half-unbuttoned and the look of death in his eyes. “Stay here if you want, Mogi.”

After a full minute of pounding (no pun intended) angrily on the door, they are greeted by a short guy (taller than Ukita, but that’s not saying much) who looks just as pissed and far more disheveled than they are. Actually, something about him seems weirdly familiar, but Ukita hasn’t the foggiest idea where from, so he ignores it.

“Do you fucking _mind_ ,” the guy hisses.

“Funny, ‘cause _I_ was going to ask the _exact same thing_!” Ukita shoots back, pointing an accusing finger at the other man. “Can you and your girlfriend keep it the fuck _down_?”

“He’s not a fucking _woman_ ,” he snaps, very suddenly and way too defensively. He goes quiet for a moment, apparently less-than-pleasantly surprised with himself; then the door slams shut, and Aizawa and Ukita are left staring in stunned silence after him.

“Well,” Mogi says, having appeared at some point during the confrontation; Ukita nearly jumps out of his skin. He’s an awfully quiet walker for such a large man. “Let’s, uh. Go back to bed.”

* * *

 

“I don’t mind being the designated driver, you know,” Mogi murmurs into his ear.

Aizawa shrugs, folding his coat over his arm as the door swings shut behind him, blocking out a gust of icy wind. “Do what you want,” he mutters, eyes trailing after the other three. “I think Matsuda wanted to sit with me, and I’m staying sober so I can keep an eye on him. You remember last time.”

“I’m sure Ide’s doing the same thing,” Mogi points out.

“Maybe. Either way, I’m not risking it.” 

The other man shrugs and follows after Ukita.

Aizawa slides into the booth across from Ide and Matsuda, setting the coat down next to him and crossing his arms over his chest. He doesn’t pay attention to what either of the others get, but orders a water for himself.

“You know, Aizawa,” Matsuda comments, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head, “You _could_ get something to drink. You haven’t looked like you’ve had any fun this whole time…”

“I have,” Aizawa argues. “You just don’t pay attention.”

Ide grimaces. “Not that I don’t believe you, but you _have_ seemed a little distant lately, Aizawa. Since before we left.” Aizawa’s only response is to shrug awkwardly and stare very intensely at the picture of the Gateway Arch hanging above their booth; Ide clears his throat. “Anyways. How’s your girlfriend doing? It’s Eriko, right?”

Aizawa suddenly loses interest in Missouri’s tallest accessible building and snaps his attention back to Ide. It’s an innocent enough comment on the surface — anyone else might have interpreted it as a harmless attempt to change the subject at Aizawa’s obvious discomfort, but he knows Ide and he knows _better_. His mouth twitches. “Yeah. Eriko’s fine.”

Matsuda is almost eerily silent, which is a first, eyes wide and focused on Ide, who hums and drums his fingers over the surface of the table. “Wasn’t she against you coming with us in the first place? She must not be very happy about that.”

“I don’t know why you’re so concerned with what Eriko’s opinion on all this is.”

“Shuichi.” Ide’s tone is just as matter of fact as it always is, but the word slips it into something carefully gentle, and chills run down Aizawa’s spine. “I’m asking out of _concern_. We’re worried — Matsuda and I both are, and I’m fairly certain we’re not the _only_ ones. It’s not that I don’t trust your judgement, because I do, but I’m pretty sure you know just as well as _I_ do that you’re in over your head.”

A few months ago, before they had set off on their little voyage, Aizawa might have reacted angrily to such a bold-faced statement, no matter _whom_ it was from. The time away has only solidified his doubts, though; he isn’t so dense that he can’t realize just _why_ he feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest now that he’s away from home, why it immediately resurfaces whenever he checks his phone to find another string of texts or missed calls, why the main dampener on his mood is the reminder of the conversation he’ll have to have once he returns. Her concerns and anxieties, he supposes, are based in his own emotional distance in the weeks prior, but maybe even that could’ve been resolved if he wasn’t too apprehensive of her violent responses to even the _suggestion_ that things weren't quite working out for them. 

“I.” He sighs. “I’ve been planning on breaking up with her, to be honest. I’m just not sure how to … bring it up.”

“I’m glad you’ve been planning on it, but _planning_ won’t do anything, Shuichi. The longer you drag this out, the more difficult it’s going to be.”

“M-maybe it would be easiest to get it done over the phone, before we get back. I know it’s kind of a dick move, but if you think she’s going to try to _do_ something…” Matsuda’s voice is thoughtful and tentative, nowhere near as peppy as usual, and his cheek is rested contemplatively against his palm. “But, you know, if you _do_ want to wait, if you feel like you need help or something, I don’t mind…” He trails off and gestures helplessly at Aizawa from across the table.

Aizawa is almost taken aback by the sheer genuine nature of Matsuda’s offer, and is silent as the server brings their drinks and leaves. Finally, he mumbles, “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Matsuda smiles anxiously, and for a moment, they’re all quiet; then, he adds, “After you break up with Eriko, you can date me and Ide, if you want.”

Ide spits out his drink.

* * *

 

“I think are some hitchhikers up there,” Matsuda mumbles from the passenger seat, and Mogi opens his eyes; it’s dark now, and Aizawa and Ukita have somehow managed to fall asleep in the middle two seats. “Do we pick up hitchhikers? Is that even legal here?”

“No one’s going to fucking arrest us for picking up a couple of guys — plus, it’s like an hour to the nearest city. There are two of them, and there are five of us, so I don’t think we’ll get any trouble,” Ide mutters. “You okay sharing the back seats, Mogi?”

“Yeah.” The car comes to a stop; he can’t see their faces from where he’s seated, but he watches Matsuda lean out the window before motioning for the two to climb in. Somehow, this doesn’t wake their sleeping companions up.

Mogi nearly does a double take when he sees them.

The first man he recognizes clearly as the guy who almost got in a fight with Ukita back in Tennessee; the second is a good few inches taller, with long, dark hair and softer features (not that that’s much of an accomplishment in comparison). He can tell that the first guy recognizes him because his face is violently red and he refuses to meet Mogi’s eyes. If the second one notices (which he most likely does), he chooses not to bring it up in front of the other occupants.

A few minutes pass, and they continue down the rural highway. Ide and Matsuda slip into quiet conversation about some book series Ide’s managed to convince him to pick up, and Aizawa and Ukita haven’t stirred. Mogi isn’t exactly a great conversationalist, but the atmosphere in the back seat is too tense for him to stand, so he wrangles their names out of them after a while and decides to attempt discussion.

“So, are you guys just, uh… hitchhiking around?”  


Namikawa — both of their names sound all too familiar, but he isn’t sure _why_ — looks at Higuchi like he thinks he’s going to reply and is greeted by silence. “Motorbike broke down,” he finally says, obviously not much more thrilled with the situation than his shorter companion.

Mogi considers asking what they plan to do about that, but clearly he isn’t getting any straight answers out of these guys. Just looking at them is strange enough; they’re torn up, exhausted looking, and not entirely clean, dressed in cheap, tourist-y clothes that they got in Kansas City, judging from the lettering. There are dark spots that he can only assume are hickeys partially hidden around Namikawa’s neck and shoulders, and he’s pretty sure he hears Higuchi’s stomach growl a good several times; they’re both clearly washed out, pathetic creatures of the lowest sort, which is strange because they seem almost _ashamed_ to be seen as such — there’s a story there, he’s sure, but it’s not like they’ll tell him what it is. He admits defeat and stares out the window.

He hears Ide mention that they’ll probably drop the two off in Aurora or Denver, and then his and Matsuda’s discussion lulls into background noise again. It begins to rain, at first in scattered drops and then increasing until there’s a rhythmic drumming against the top of the car. His eyelids feel heavy, and before he drifts off, he hears either Higuchi or Namikawa — he can’t tell which — mutter a single, quiet sentence to the other.

“At least we’re not out in the rain.”

* * *

 

“Yotsuba, huh…”

Matsuda pulls his head out of the rack of clothes to look back at Mogi. The other man had been focused intently on his phone all morning, and Matsuda was fairly certain this was the first time he’d heard him actually _speak_ all day — not that that was _too_ out of the ordinary.

“What?”

“Higuchi and Namikawa — those guys we picked up back in Colorado,” Mogi explains, scrolling through whatever he had pulled up on his screen. “They used to work for Yotsuba. High-ranking executives. I’ve been meaning to look them up ever since then, but apparently there was some sort of scandal and — ”

“Found anything yet?” Ukita's voice is loud and enthusiastic and right next to Matsuda’s ear, and he flinches a little bit at the volume of it but isn’t actually upset. 

“No, none of these are really my _style_ , you know?” Matsuda glances back to Mogi, who is muttering to Aizawa about something, and pauses. “Where’d Ide go?”

“Huh?” Ukita stares at him and then glances around like he hadn’t noticed their friend’s absence in the first place. “He’s… I don’t know. Shit. We must’ve left him behind at some point…”

And that’s how Matsuda ends up running through stores in the middle of summer in L.A. He dials Ide’s phone a few times to no avail, and doesn’t manage to find the man himself for what must be at least an hour. He’s always been a fan of travel, and he’s probably the most fascinated with the city out of all of them (the fact that it’s their last stop before they fly back home admittedly doesn’t make it any worse), but he’s far too frantic now to appreciate it; it is entirely by accident when he quite literally runs into Ide.

His boyfriend spins around like he’s ready to chew him out, but relaxes when he realizes who it is. “M-Matsuda!”

“Hideki! Where have you _been_?”

“I could ask _you_ that,” Ide grumbles, but he sounds noticeably less cross than he _could_ be. “I was looking at something in that bookstore, then I turned around and everyone was _gone_. Then my phone died, so…”

“Sorry.” Matsuda offers an apologetic smile and wraps his arms around Ide’s own; the other man turns red but offers no other response, and Matsuda’s smile widens into a grin. “C’mon, let’s get back to the others. We need to get matching tee shirts.”

And they do.

**Author's Note:**

> i know this fic has, like, no fucking plot or focus, and it's admittedly not my best work, but i mainly just wrote this to get a grasp on the task force members' characters bc i plan on writing more stuff w them in the future. cheers.
> 
> http://sugurushimura.tumblr.com/


End file.
